Flightless Bird
by singsongsung
Summary: Slightly AU Lucas/Peyton. Loss is powerful. It can tear people apart...or it can result in unexpected gains, like a rekindled friendship and the healing of two hearts.
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** I know, I know, I _know_. Don't judge me. I don't control my muse, it dictates to me. Typos/spelling errors are entirely my fault, however.

Other than excuses, I'd just like to comment on the title/lyrics. I know that it's a political song, a lament for the American dream, and as someone fairly politically involved, I appreciate its beauty from that point of view. But as a teenager, my romanticism and hope still in tact, I think it's stunning in the love-story sense. Either way, it's a gorgeous song that I wholeheartedly suggest. (And yes, I did tweak the lyrics to better fit the plotline…this isn't _exactly_ how the song goes.)

Reviews are love. :)

**Flightless Bird**

_Have I found you, flightless bird?_

_Jealous, weeping._

_Or have I lost you, flightless bird?_

_Grounded, bleeding._

_-- Iron & Wine (Flightless Bird, American Mouth)_

She'd never been one to overreact. She handled things as calmly as she could; stoically. She'd shed more than her fair share of tears in her lifetime, but she rarely allowed herself a full-scale breakdown. What she was feeling now was strange. It was an unsteadiness, a haziness. The room was filled with people and tasteful décor, but it wasn't cramped or overly warm – yet, her cheeks felt very warm. Her heart was pounding quickly in her chest; she could feel the beats throbbing in her neck and at her wrists. She didn't feel unwell, exactly…it was just that she couldn't stop thinking _I have to get out of here_.

She jumped a couple of inches off the ground when she felt a large, warm hand land on her bare shoulder.

Startled, she turned, placing a hand on her chest as if that alone could coax her heartbeat back to its normal cadence.

All the air left her lungs when she saw who was standing there. His classy black suit contrasted violently with the pink martini he held.

Said martini almost toppled from his hands as she flung her arms around him in a fierce, grateful hug. "You came," she whispered thankfully into his shoulder. She honestly hadn't expected him to make an appearance.

His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back and she felt his lips press against her temple. "Of course I am," he replied as though it was the only place in the world he could possibly be.

When they finally pulled away from one another, he kept one hand on her waist. "You alright?" he asked cautiously, taking in her glassy eyes and red cheeks.

Her lips twisted into a regretful smirk. "I feel like I can't be here."

He tugged her toward him again and she let him engulf her in a protective embrace. She rested her forehead against his chest, letting her curls fall in curtains on either side of her face as she resolutely blinked back tears.

"S'alright," he said, close to her ear, his voice deep and lullaby-like.

"No," she responded vehemently, so harshly that it shocked him. "I cannot break down right now."

She felt safer, tucked into his arms, so she stayed there, hiding from the stifling atmosphere and the sight of the rock hard mahogany chairs that no one wanted to sit in. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. The air stung her throat as she struggled to fill in lungs.

In and out.

"Where's Allie?" she asked softly, suddenly realizing that the little girl was not with either of her parents. Instinctive panic rose within her, choking her as she gasped for breath once more.

"Baby-sitter," he answered, his tone of voice steady and even; he was trying to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Another hand came to rest on her back. "Hey, are you okay?" the male voice attached to the hand asked.

She straightened up and glanced over her shoulder to where Nathan stood. She opened her mouth to reply and then paused. Her mind was blank. "What was the question?"

His eyes were shrouded by the solemn mood that encompassed them all. There had been a couple moments that morning at which she'd thought she might faint, and she'd wanted it. She craved the loss of consciousness, the sense of relief, the momentary loss of memory.

She realized that, again, she'd missed Nathan's words. "Nate, I'm sorry…what?"

He shook his head and glanced over her head at the man that still held her close. "Why don't you two go upstairs? Just take a minute."

"I'm fine," she responded automatically, complete with the gracious, sympathetic smile that had always accompanied those words in recent days.

"Honey…" The arms around her retracted and she turned back to their owner, frowning. The fact that he'd just called her _honey_ was setting off alarm bells in her already frazzled mind. He took her hand in his. "Look at you. You're trembling."

Nathan spoke up again, still looking over her head. "It's…good that you came, man," he said gruffly, reluctantly.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "If only…"

Both men nodded at the sentiment, which was both compulsory and heartfelt, before they looked at the ground.

"C'mon." She found herself following him up the ornate staircase. When they reached the top, she noticed that he was still holding his martini.

"Why do you still have that?" she demanded impulsively. "It's disgusting."

"Oh…good." He set it down on the sill of a window. "It _really_ is, I just…I thought it would be disrespectful."

She wrapped her arms around herself and paced into the nearest room. It was a boardroom, built for small conferences – one of many over the auditorium they had gathered in.

"This place is pretty spectacular," he commented lightly, whistling softly, as though he'd read her mind.

"Yeah…" she said as she turned back. Meeting his eyes, she said firmly, "It's perfect."

He understood her meaning perfectly and clearly. "It is," he agreed with a nod.

Her heart was still pounding at a tempo faster than its norm. Carefully, she perched on the windowsill and pressed a hand to her chest. "Talk to me," she begged.

Again, he asked, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, not wishing to share any of the details in her spiraling mind with him, not right now. He knew her, better than almost anyone, but even he couldn't understand. "I just need you to talk to me about…something, something else. I can't…I feel like I can't calm down." It felt like her muscles were shaking.

He walked over to her, nothing but worry in his eyes. He cupped one hand over hers, the one on her chest, and pressed the other to her flushed cheek. "I think you're having a panic attack," he mused.

She didn't want a diagnosis, she wanted a distraction. "Please," she begged, "just talk to me."

He backed off and nodded in agreement and she leaned back against the window, letting the chilled glass cool her skin. She let her eyes flutter closed.

"Allie knows all the words to _American Pie_ now," he offered, and she could hear the amusement and pride in his voice, fighting for control.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Of course she does."

"That kid's got some seriously strange music taste," he continued, easing into the conversation topic. "I walked past the door when she was in the bath the other day and heard her singing _Amazing Grace_. Two hours later she's bouncing around the living room belting out Gym Class Heroes."

"Her taste is varied," she replied without hesitation. "It's a good thing. Besides, she's barely six years old."

"My point exactly," he countered, gently and playfully. "When I was six I was picking out _Heart and Soul_ on the keyboard and singing _Oh, Susanna_, not listening to twenty different genres of modern music. I feel upstaged," he joked.

She opened her eyes and grinned, though she tried to stifle it. "I cannot picture you singing _Oh, Susanna_."

"Oh, but I did," he replied, grinning back. "I still sing it now," he continued teasingly. "Y'know, when I'm trying to score. Sexy song."

Had she had anything in her hands to throw at him, she would have, but instead she simply covered her face with her hands and mumbled, "You are such a pervert."

When she dropped her hands, the mirth had left his eyes and he was studying her carefully. "Are you feeling better?"

"I can breathe again, if that's what you mean."

He stood from the table he'd been half-sitting on and approached her again. "You'll get through it," he said gently. "You can survive anything."

She bit down on one side of her bottom lip, looking up at him vulnerably. "But it's not fair that I _have_ to."

His facial expression melted into one of complete sympathy, shedding all usual bravado, as he reached out and cupped her cheek tenderly in his hand. "I know," he murmured.

"I don't…want to _hurt_ anymore," she admitted quietly as though it were a treasured secret.

Joining her on the window sill, he asked, "Have you been, prior to this? Hurting?"

She shook her head, wishing she had phrased things more accurately. "I've been happy, you know that. It's just that…it seems to come in waves, and they always seem to hit me when I'm down." She shook her head yet again, her curls whacking against her shoulders as she waved her hands vaguely as if physically trying to clear the air. "I'm a mess. Don't listen to me. I'm tired and…grieving and just…" She cracked a halfhearted smile. "Why don't you say something inappropriate and irritating so that I can laugh?"

"There's no escape, babe. You know that."

She blew out her breath, unable to help pouting a bit. "Yeah. I do."

His hand slipped deep into her loose curls, fingers finding their way to the nape of her neck and massaging lightly. "Do I need to worry about you?" he asked seriously.

"No," she said instantly, brushing off his words. "No."

"Okay…" He made a face, similar to the ones he employed when being silly with six-year-old Allie. "I think I might anyway."

She rolled her eyes, but sighed. She leaned on him, resting her head against his shoulder.

His arm slipped around her with natural ease, tugging her just a little bit closer. "You know I'm always here for you. And…"

She sat up abruptly, silencing him by pressing her index finger against his lips. "I know. And that's enough. You're here, and that means a lot. You don't need to say anything else mushy," she added with the ghost of a smile. "You can go back to your jackass persona whenever you want. I'm fine."

Despite his nodding and his brief smile, she could tell by the way his eyes were searching hers that he didn't believe her. Still, she didn't look away. If he could see deeply enough to realize exactly what she was going through, she would be happy to let someone in.

He tucked a finger under her chin gently, lifting her face up a bit. She watched him warily, waiting for him to speak, to tell her that she needed someone to take care of her. That was the general message she'd been getting lately, not so much from words but rather the worry etched into everyone's faces.

He didn't speak, nor did he judge her with his cerulean eyes. Instead, he leaned in, and before her tired mind had time to comprehend what was happening, his lips were pressed gently against hers.

It was a familiar kiss. She knew that to most the man she sat with now didn't radiate trustworthy qualities or any air of safety, but that's exactly what he was to her. She knew him better than most people. He was her one true love to date. She melted into him, against his lips – just for a minute, just for long enough to find her sanity again.

When they broke for oxygen neither one of them pulled back. She rested her forehead wearily against his, breathed an inaudible thank you, and let herself stay there for a moment, safe in the moment as his hands cradled her neck and back and his breath mingled with hers.

Her eyes drifted after a couple minutes, glancing through the frost-tinted window out into the gardens behind the auditorium, which had the atmosphere of a winter wonderland, everything coated in sugar-powder snow.

The wind was bitter and brisk; none of the guests had dared to venture outside. A lone figure was there, sitting on the bench, so still that she momentarily mistook him for a statue. Without clearly thinking about it, him or herself or the decision she was making, she was on her feet and moving toward the door.

"Wha…wait!" the confused man behind her called, standing from the window sill. "What're you…"

Even as she turned to speak to him, she continued walking backward toward the exit. She couldn't explain her sudden need to get out there, but it was present, and she was powerless against it. "I have to go. I…"

"Peyton," he pleaded; his voice was strong, but it was still a request. He frowned. "Please, stay." His voice took on that tender quality she knew he used only with certain people, and that she was privileged to be one of them. "Let me take care of you."

"I can't," she whispered regretfully, and turned away again.

He was faster than her – she had shaking legs and weak ankles in her heels – and he hurried forward, grasping her hand.

"Let me," she said simply, not even bothering to add the 'go'.

He didn't protest a second time – he was smarter than that. Instead, he shrugged off his suit jacket and held it out to her. He didn't bother with a full sentence, either; said nothing more than, "At least."

She accepted it delicately, tried for a smile, and raced out of the room and down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

She walked toward him cautiously. It was freezing cold – her feet were already numb – but she marched on nonetheless. He didn't look up or acknowledge her presence, but she knew that he knew that she was approaching him.

Suddenly, and maybe stupidly, she wondered how she looked. Somewhere on the stairs a couple tears had dripped out of her eyes, no doubt taking her mascara with them. Her skin felt dry and stretched out from too many smiles, and she suspected her carefully done curls were hanging loosely down her back. She dress was simple and pretty, but it was without sleeves, and she'd cuddled into the suit jacket to help ward off the chill.

In short, she probably wasn't looking too gorgeous at that exact moment, but she couldn't think of a good reason for either of them to care.

She was relieved when he spoke first, right after she sat next to him, shuddering from the feeling of the starkly cold bench against her legs, bare under her knee-length dress.

"Hey," he said.

She expelled a breath. "Hey, Luke," she replied, just as softly and respectfully.

They were friends, she knew. She'd never questioned it. But his subtle animosity toward the man whose blazer she currently wore, distance, and time, had broken their closeness in the years after high school. They still saw each other, at least a handful times a year, but they hadn't reached out to one another in quite a while.

"It's kinda cold," she remarked. Stating the obvious, she knew, but it was a start.

"Yeah," he agreed with a sigh, and pulled off _his_ suit jacket, draping it over her, adding an extra layer. She would have protested, but she still knew him well enough to know that it wouldn't have done any good. He was a gentleman. He continued, "I guess I just…wanted to get away from that. Drunk people with empty words."

"I know what you mean about empty words," she agreed softly. "But Lucas, trust me, no one in there is drunk. That drink tastes awful. You know that."

He smirked a little and she was proud of herself for coaxing even a semblance of a smile from him. "Yeah, I do. And she did, too."

She let a small smile grace her chapped lips, too. "Most popular and sweetest liquor, a touch of pink dye, served in a martini glass because it 'looked pretty'."

"The Brooke Davis," he agreed with a sigh and a nod.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment of silence had passed. Empty, obligation-filled words from almost anyone else, hers were different, packed with sincerity. "How are you doing?"

"Not so great," he admitted; his words sounded heavy. "It doesn't really feel…real." He eyed her for a moment before returning, "And you?"

"Pretty much the same. I…I could have twenty of those drinks and I wouldn't feel as numb as I do now." Confusion and anguish convoluted her mind, and she ended up blurting, "How did we get here?"

"Complications with an ectopic pregnancy," he said gruffly, bitterly, mournfully. He sounded like he should have been downing an entire glass of scotch with those words.

"I can't…tell you how sorry I am, Lucas," she said earnestly. "You had happily ever after right in front of you," she choked out, surprised by the sob that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat.

"No such thing," he countered gently, "but we were pretty close." He paused, closing his eyes momentarily. "I loved her."

She bit down hard on her lower lip to prevent the sob from escaping. "I know you did," she said when she thought it was safe to speak. "I know you did. I did, too. She was my best friend."

"I don't…" He paused, as if unsure whether he should tell her what he was going to say. She let her eyes probe into his, and finally, he said, "I don't even know what it's really like to love anyone else. We've been together since high school."

Nodding, she thought of her own romance. Lucas' story was familiar to her.

"So, I guess I…I don't have the answer, Peyton. I'm not trying to be…I don't mean anything by it. I know you loved her as much as I did, and that you'll miss her as much. But I don't know how we got here. I can't help you."

"I don't expect you to have that answer," she said quietly, comfortingly, and he glanced over at her in surprise. "I meant…is it selfish?" she questioned rhetorically. "I meant…you…and me."

"O-oh," he stuttered out, looking taken aback.

She instantly felt guilty. "Forget it," she said immediately, heat rising to her cheeks, tingling and numb from the cold. "That was selfish; it was horrible of me to ask. Forget it."

"Stop," he chided her, much like he had back then, back in high school, when she'd be self-deprecating. _Can never take a compliment, this girl_, he used to say. _She'll probably never learn._ And then, just to tease her, he'd call her beautiful, intelligent, stunning, an amazing artist…anything he could think of just to make her blush.

"But it is," she whispered, clarifying: "Selfish. It's just as though…you're the only person who can really understand how hard it is to breathe right now, to be…in there," she said, gesturing to the building. "I asked because I feel like…I need you, and that's…not right. I mean, God, when was the last time we had a real conversation?"

"This…is more real than any conversation I've had in days," he muttered, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "Trust me."

"I knew her forever," she murmured, more to herself, to the snow, than to him.

"She _was_ my forever," he returned, just as much to his own self.

Tears clouded her vision, swimming in her eyes and freezing in her lower lashes. She chanced a glance over at him and found that his eyes – beautiful, expressive eyes – were glistening, too.

"Oh, _Luke_," she whispered, and gathered him into his arms. His ice-cold arms closed around her and his chilly cheek rested against the smallest bit of skin that had been exposed at her clavicle. She felt his shoulders shake, and gently ran her hand up and down his arm soothingly, holding him tenderly, much like she would a child.

She cast her eyes toward the skin, hoping that would help to stem the flow of tears. The sun peeked cautiously through a couple grey clouds, as if wondering when it would be safe to come out again.

Peyton sniffled, glancing back down as the sun stung her eyes, and rested her cheek against Lucas' eyes. The world was a weird and mysterious place, as were the people that occupied it. It turned out that she wasn't in need of someone to take care of her.

She'd needed to watch over someone else.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** I am so sleepy right now you're just going to have to forgive my typos; I'm sorry. Happy Holidays. Reviews are always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy it!

He awoke early in the morning, _too_ early, much earlier than his wife would ever deem acceptable.

_Late wife_, he mentally corrected himself.

Despite the early hour, he heard movement outside his hotel door, in the common area of the pricey suite. The funeral had been held in New York, and Haley was adamant: Lucas was not going to spend the night alone in Brooke's city apartment, tired and sad, he had to come and stay with them in their hotel. Even at six-thirty in the morning, there was activity in the four bedroom suite. Lucas kicked off his blankets, the sheet ensnaring his ankle for a moment, and stood, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He was anxious to free himself of the solitary air in the room, to keep his mind occupied.

It was easier to breathe once he stepped through the doorway. Jamie, eight years old, was sitting in front of the TV, chuckling at cartoons. His smile faded the moment he spotted the older blonde; he quietly said, "Hi, Uncle Luke."

Lucas smiled softly and ruffled his nephew's hair. "It's okay to laugh and smile, J-Luke. That's what your Aunt Brooke would want."

Jamie smiled brightly, nodding his assent and speaking decisively, "Yeah. She would."

"Coffee, Luke?" Haley offered, her voice gentle. She was standing in the small kitchen area, a lightweight robe over her pyjamas and dark circles under her eyes.

"Thanks," he replied, approaching her and accepting the mug she pushed toward him.

She smiled at him sympathetically while he took a sip of the bitter liquid. "Peyton's outside," she informed him, tilting her head toward the doors of the balcony.

"Okay…" he said uncertainly, unsure of why she'd decided to supply his with this random fact. There was something in her eyes that he didn't understand.

A slight smirk touched her lips as she handed another mug to him. "Why don't you take this out to her?"

"Sure." Shooting his best friend a curious look, he accepted the cup and made his way outside.

The sun was just beginning to rise, lighting up the lowest part of the sky. Peyton was sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in the comforter that had obviously come from her bed. Her jaw was set, her eyes lost somewhere in the distance.

"Coffee?" he offered, clearing his throat.

She looked over at him. She was clearly surprised, but she smiled, slipping her hands out the cocoon she'd created around herself to accept the beverage.

She held out the blanket to him. He had to sit close to her so that the cold couldn't get in. His arm pressed against hers, warm skin to cold.

"How long have you been out here?"

"A while," she shrugged. "I couldn't really sleep…I kept thinking about her."

He could tell that this was her subtle attempt to get him to open up to her. But she had taken care of him yesterday; he was prepared to let the roles reverse themselves. All he said, gently, was: "Yeah?"

"Do you…not want to talk about it?"

He shook his head after a moment of thinking about it. He missed Brooke terribly and he'd really been madly in love with her, but he didn't want her invading this space, this moment in which he was reconnecting with Peyton.

"He didn't come?" he questioned. "I saw him, yesterday. You should have asked him to stay here, too." He was surprised by the challenging tone of his own voice, and he could tell that she was, too.

"I did," she whispered. She cleared her throat and continued at a normal volume, "He couldn't, thought. Someone had to stay with Allie."

"Right," he murmured as his heart dropped. The subject of children was a painful reminder of the cause of his wife's death – a baby that never would have been carried to term anyway.

"You would've been a great dad, Luke. You still can be," she said thickly. He looked over at her in shock and saw that her eyes were shining with tears, reflecting the emerging rays of the sun. "I know that it must hurt to hear that, but I just…I want you to know that. I need you to."

A single tear slipped out of her left eyes, trailing slowly down her cheek.

"Thank you, Peyton," he said simply, his tone muted and gentle.

She nodded, pressing her lips together until they turned white, holding back a sob.

"It's okay,'" he told her. It wasn't, but he wanted to comfort her somehow, to help her as she had him.

Peyton nodded once more, a couple more tears leaking out of her eyes. She tilted her head to right, resting it on his shoulder.

They stayed like that until the sun was high in the sky, even though Peyton's neck cramped and his lips turned blue.

It was calmer out there with one another, serene and silent.

Safe.

-x-

"You should come back to Tree Hill," Haley repeated for the infinite time.

"Hales…" Lucas groaned (for the infinite time). He loved her for her concern, but he wasn't quite ready to return to his hometown. Not to the place where he was married, where he should have raised his family, where forever should have existed.

"Really, man," Nathan added through a yawn. Half his attention was fixed on the TV screen, where he was playing some sort of car-racing video game with his son; but he was partially tuned into the conversation as well. Nathan's multitasking abilities were getting much better, no doubt because of Haley's influence. "You should come home."

"I don't think…" He was interrupted at that moment, and he let out a relieved sigh.

His unofficial niece barrelled through the doorway, blonde hair fixed in bouncy pigtails, navy blue eyes lively and glittering. Rosy cheeks and pretty smile – she was the brightest, happiest thing he'd seen in days. "Uncle Lucas!" she cried excitedly, launching herself into his arms without waiting to see if he was ready to catch her.

But he was, of course he was. He scooped her into his arms and planted kisses all over her red cheeks, making her giggle. "Hey, Allie-K," he greeted her with one last kiss. "How is the most beautiful girl in the world?"

"Good," she preened, giggles fading away like they'd been caught on a summer breeze. "I missed you, though."

His throat felt tight all of a sudden, aching and dry. "I missed you, too," he told her honestly.

Her father stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, cocky smile absent, for once. "Come over here and let's take off your coat, okay, babe?"

Reluctantly, and with a huff-like sigh, she slipped out of Lucas' arms and obediently walked over to her dad, allowing him to pull her poufy winter coat from her shoulders. "Hey, everyone," her father said as he hung up the coat. "My condolences, again."

"Thanks," Haley said softly with a sad but grateful smile. "Come in, sit down. Do you want some tea?"

"Ah, the universal drink of comfort," he said with the briefest of wry smiles – that, or his cocky smirk, were typical trademarks. "No; but thanks, Hales." He leaned down and whispered something in his daughter's ear.

She looked up at him with the smallest pout on her lips before standing on tiptoe to whisper back, clinging to his sleeve for balance, and Lucas' heart ached with each beat.

Her father shook his head and nudged her gently forward. With a brief scowl, she walked over to Lucas and stood in front of him, formal and uncomfortable, little hands clasped. "I'm sorry about Aunt Brooke," she said as though she'd practiced those exact words in front of mirror, reciting. They were stilted and awkward, and she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"_Allie_." Her mother's voice was exasperated, and her daughter's name left her lips on a sigh. Peyton walked forward quickly and scooped her daughter up with a slight wince – Allie was six and, despite her skinniness, was getting heavy. "That was very heartfelt," she said sarcastically, sighing again and shooting Lucas an apologetic smile. "I don't think it's sunk in yet," she told him quietly, cradling Allie's head, one hand resting on her daughter's small ear to keep her from hearing her words.

"It's okay," he said, shrugging, because it really was. They didn't need to hover around him worriedly like this. Peyton still looked uncertain, so he reached up to touch her hand, the one that rested on Allie's leg as she supported her daughter's body.

"Well, look, I should get going…" Allie's father said quietly, squinting slightly as he glanced at Lucas' hand, still clasped lightly over Peyton's.

"Already?" Peyton asked, turning away from Lucas and looking at him. She set their daughter down and walked over to him, reaching out to touch him tentatively. "Thanks for…everything," she said softly.

Haley took Allie's hands and whispered something to her, leading her to the small kitchen area where Nathan and Jamie already were, giving the little girl's parents a private moment together. Lucas knew that he should have gotten up or at least looked away, but he didn't. He didn't know why; his mind was working in mysterious ways and he'd felt his heart palpitate a few times throughout the day – he was off-balance, feeling a little lost, and for some reason he needed to get an idea of _their_ relationship, as if it would cement things in his own life.

He really was a mess.

Their words were soft and intimate, quiet reassurances that he would be there for her if she needed anything at all, and her thanks in return. They spoke easily, words overlapping perfectly, completing each other's sentences. He and Peyton used to be so close that they could do that.

He ran his hand down her arm lightly, protectively. "So, call me when you want me to get Allie, okay?"

"She can stay here tonight, it's fine. I know Jamie would love some younger, not-so-depressed company," she replied, attempting a joke, her voice weak and delicate.

"Sure, that's great. You'll give me a call tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Thank you, again. For taking of her…and of me."

"I told you," he joked gently. "You're my girls. Always will be."

She smiled weakly, wryly. "You've got to stop being sappy, you know that? It's killing all the ideas I've ever had about the world."

He grinned back softly. "And stop surprising you? No chance."

She cupped his cheek lightly, each of her fingers making solitary, slow contact with his skin, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Lucas watched it unfold as though it were happening in slow motion and began to fear for his sanity. He shook his head to clear it, thinking for a moment that he'd been able to hear his loose, vague thoughts rattling around.

"Bye," she whispered, shoving him out the door playfully, lightly – _flirtatiously?_ Lucas wondered. She paused and called over her shoulder, "Allie. _Allegra_. Your father's leaving," she said pointedly.

"Bye, Daddy," the six-year-old called around a mouthful of the gingerbread cookie Haley had given her, eyes full of innocence glossing over mischief.

"Goodbye, baby, I'll see you tomorrow," he replied evenly, kissed Peyton's cheek one last time, and slipped out the door. It didn't slam; rather it closed with a delicate, dignified _click_. Lucas felt as though the door, too, was tiptoeing around him.

"You okay?"

He hadn't even noticed her walking back toward him, but their she was, cupping his chin lightly in her palm, gazing down at him with friendly, even concern. Bringing him back to a place where things were sane and he could keep going. "Fine. Thank you."

-x-

"Soooo," Nathan drawled as he helped himself to another slice of their not-so-formal dinner. "Is he seeing anybody?"

Peyton smiled at him, oozing with fake sweetness and faux sincerity. "I love how you _still_ ask that as though it'll bother me."

Lucas glanced back and forth between the two of them, wearing a small smirk as he wiped pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth. It baffled his mind, sometimes, that Nathan and Peyton had ever been together. He'd always known her better; been closer to her – and yet now, watching them in his peripheral vision, he could see how their relationship had involved into a teasing, protective brother/sister dynamic. '

It also offered a brutal and unsettling juxtaposition, providing him a crystal-clear view of how very much _his_ relationship with Peyton had deteriorated over the years.

"Still haven't answered me, Sawyer."

"Not that I know of," she demurred with a sigh as she leant back, shooting Nathan a glare that Haley seconded. "And we try to be open with each other, especially with Allie involved."

Nathan scoffed and the women glared at him again, causing Lucas to hide his smile behind his pizza. "Hey, Peyt, I'm sorry, but…Keller without a woman? I find that hard to believe."

She crossed her arm and blew out her breath, pouting rather adorably. Without thinking about it, Lucas patted her head a couple times, and she turned to him with fire in her eyes but a forgiving smile on her lips. "Nate, honey, if _I'm_ single, than it's possible for _Chris_ to be single," she said, arching her eyebrows.

The conversation hit a lull, dying abruptly. Lucas pulled his hand away from Peyton as though it had been burned. Her arms tightened as though she was trying to hug herself; Nathan and Haley avoided each other's eyes and swallowed audibly.

Peyton's hand drifted toward her mouth, fingertips pressed to her pale pink lips as though she herself couldn't understand the words she'd just said. "I didn't mean…" she whispered brokenly, in confused wonderment, trailing off.

"Hey, no," Haley said instantly, reaching for her hand even though they were sitting too far away from each other to touch. "It was just…"

"Weird," Peyton filled the word in forcefully. "It was weird. I _sounded_ like her."

"Peyton," Haley said quietly, as though she were afraid to spook her.

She shook her head, standing up abruptly, a thread of the fabric of her dress catching momentarily on the sofa and spooking her; she whirled around and yanked it free before hurrying out of the room, shaking slightly.

Haley stared after her worriedly, her eyes dark and dancing with her thoughts. "Chris said she had a panic attack yesterday. Someone should check on her. I'll –"

She was cut off by a flurry of movement; two small bodies rushing toward her and climbing into her arms, competing for her attention.

"Mom –"

"Aunt Haley –"

Their voices overlapped, harmoniously smooth, until they finally got their sentences out. They wanted to watch a movie; they were bored.

"Okay, well, I was just going to talk to your mom, Allie, so maybe Uncle Lucas –"

"No, Hales, don't worry about it," he assured her calmly, getting to his feet. "I'll talk to her."

Haley glanced at him briefly, a glitter of surprise in her eyes, but eventually gave him a nod of approval and returned her attention to the kids.

-x-

She'd fled to the balcony again and was staring off into the city; hands pressed hard against the cold metal of the railing – white from either the chill of the pressure with which she was bearing down.

"You're starting to freak me out," he said as an opening. "The cold. The balcony. The amount of pressure you're putting on that railing. What're you trying to do?"

When she looked over at him she took his breathe away. Her expression was tormented, heartbroken, full of longing and regret and misery. "Not funny," she whispered, trying to play it off, but her eyes were swimming with tears and memories and her chin was quivering like it had when they were younger and she was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Peyton," he breathed sympathetically.

She shook her head; stubborn as always, refusing to give in and let herself mourn. He placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder and she shrugged it off, turning away from him slightly, lips pressed together.

He could tell instantly that this wasn't going to be easy, so he overpowered her, as gently as he could, pulling her into his arms. She fought him, pushing at him uselessly even though she had to know she was losing. Finally he calmed her down, pulled her in, sandwiching her arms by her sides. When she gave in, her forehead pressed against his chest, he loosened his hold slightly and her arms moved upward immediately, gripping at the fabric of his shirt, clinging tightly to him.

"I don't know…" she was cut off by her own sobbing, and she gulped, swallowing hard before she attempted to speak again, her voice still muffled against his chest. "She was like half of me. You know?"

"I know," he whispered, rubbing big, soothing circles in a pattern on her back. Because he did. Brooke had been like half of him, too.

"I feel lost," she murmured, pulling back and wiping uselessly at her eyes, looking up at him vulnerably. "I feel so lost and it _scares_ me."

Just as she'd always been, he mused. So afraid to ask for help, so afraid to truly trust someone. "It's okay," he murmured, wiping some of the moisture from the apple of her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"No –"

"It _is_," he insisted. "I feel lost, too, I feel _crazy_ without her, sometimes. That's okay, Peyton."

"B-but," she stuttered through her tears, "how do you find…how do you get back?"

"I'm sure as hell not back yet," he sighed. "I don't know, Peyt, I guess you…you're patient, and you let yourself be sad, and you remember and you…you let people _help_ you," he added, looking into her eyes meaningfully.

"_You're_ going to help _me_?" she whispered, still clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping her alive.

"If you'll let me," he told her gently.

She hugged him fiercely without warning, her strength returning suddenly and with force. "Okay," she whispered into his shoulder. "But let me help you, too."

-x-

They watched a child-appropriate movie, the adults only half-tuned in. There were two couches, and they're split up into even groups of three: Nathan, Haley, and their son on one; Lucas, Peyton, and Allie on the other.

His friends were lost in their own thoughts, so Lucas took some time to consider the picture they created. Six people. Two men, two women, two girls.

They'd worked out in a way so perfectly that he'd always sort of believed that it had been written for the stars. He and Haley had each other, as did Brooke and Peyton. Peyton got involved with Nathan; Lucas and Nathan began to confront the fact that they shared a father, and their lives got irreversibly tangled – sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad. A year later, when things calmed down a bit, Chris Keller entered their lives, evening out their small, delicately balanced group.

A whirlwind of hearts soaring and crashing and some unbelievably crazy history, they reached as close as they'd ever get to perfection. Nathan and Haley were married (twice) and had a child, named for Lucas. Peyton and Chris eloped shortly after their biggest fight and had a child, named Allegra – a play on the musical term _allegro_, which both of them found highly entertaining. Lucas and Brooke got married, and planned on trying for kids. It was a balance; it was _right_.

But things had slowly started to unravel. It began when Chris and Peyton drifted apart and suddenly realized that their dreams weren't coming true, that their love wasn't what they'd ever thought it was, and that they'd be better apart. And now, their group took another, more forceful hit: Brooke's death.

He was afraid that this was only the beginning of the end.

Allie's little foot rammed against his thigh that moment as she kicked in her sleep, rolling over and murmuring unintelligible words. She'd inherited her mother's sleeptalking habits. Lucas looked down at her, unable to help smiling affectionately. She was just so cute, so sweet, so pure in her love and her laughter, every aspect of her life. His gaze drifted all the way up her body, to where her head rested in her mother's lap.

Peyton was looking down at her daughter rather than paying attention to the film, stroking her hair fondly, a sad smile on her lips. She must have felt the pressure of his gaze, because she looked up and her smile changed slightly, took on a shape that carried a _thank you_.

Lucas glanced briefly over at the other couch. Jamie was still enthralled by the movie, Haley had fallen asleep, and Nathan was looking into the distance, lost in thought, rubbing Haley's back absentmindedly.

Allie's foot hit his thigh again and he glanced back at her face, a serene, sleepy smile on her full lips; her mother's hands in her hair.

It didn't have to be the beginning of the end.

Maybe it could just be a beginning.


End file.
